It's Called Stalking
by poi922
Summary: I started writing this before the S4 premier, knowing only that there was a 6 week time jump between it and the S3 finale. This is set during those 6 weeks, when not all the team members had met up yet…


"You know, there's a word for this. It's called 'stalking'…"

Shaw looks at the tall man at her side, willing him to respond. And of course he doesn't. Doesn't even glance at her! Her words apparently float past him, seemingly never making it to his inner ear to rattle all those delicate little bones that start the process of changing sound into neural signals.

But she knows better. He's heard her…and just chooses to ignore her comments.

They'd been at this site for the better part of thirty minutes with Reese playing a believable role of a tourist enamored with the park's beauty. It _is_ pretty, this part at least, all that verdant green reaching up to a denim sky…but though the ex-op occasionally fiddles with the lens and points the camera in various directions, she knows his focus always returns to the same coordinates: those of his target.

"We need to move on. We're too exposed here…" she adds persistently, shifting back a step from the low wall that separates them from public property. A quick glance around assures her there is still no imminent danger, but that's not to say it couldn't materialize at any time.

She moves another step to the side, away from the surly demeanor that seems to have enveloped the ex-op lately. Not that the man would ever share any of his emotions with her - thank God! - but he doesn't have to verbalize his dissatisfaction for her to feel it.

Unable to express her own sentiments, she has over the years forced herself to develop the ability to recognize the more dangerous ones in others. It's what kept her alive while working for Control….keeps her alive now. And the vibe she's picking up from the ex-agent is not a pleasant one.

If she were to assign a color to Reese's aura now - assuming she believed in that claptrap – it would be red. A color that pierces the atmosphere. Red for danger. For blood. For violence …

She can't get the ex-op to respond. Or leave. And that's more than just aggravating, it's worrisome!

And she should just go…leave the man to face whatever danger comes along….alone. Why should she care that they had just run across each other again after weeks of the team having been split up. Root had found her too. So why was she so pleased to see another team member again so soon?

Because like her, he was bored, itching to get back to saving Numbers…people? Even though he had a much better job than the one she ended up with!

And worrisome too is the fact that as always she's having to fight against that sensation of being over powered here, standing uselessly next to the ex-agent. She just _hates_ that about herself, and hates that her first defense is to become snarky!

"So how much longer are you going to be? Even a tourist wouldn't take this many photos!"

Sure, he's tall, measuring more than a head higher, even when she wears her boots-made-for-stomping heels…when the top of her head still barely tops his chin. But that's always been the case.

And after all, she tells herself, no matter what size, humans are pretty much all the same height laying down!

At only 5 feet 3 ¼ inches herself – she always rounds that up to 5 feet 4 when asked - almost everyone towers over her. Even Root has a good 3 inches on her, and her late partner Cole, being closer to Reese in height, had to bend almost double when the situation required they whisper. As for Northern Lights' other operative Hersh, at slightly under six feet, he still loomed like a tree above eye level.

But Reese is not Hersh. And certainly not Cole, the co-worker she'd grown to trust, count on during all those dangerous assignments. She'd never been leery around Cole…and if she was truthful with herself it was because she knew she'd always have the upper hand: _she_, was after all, the field agent – _he,_ merely the handler.

And Hersh? Well, she could always manage him too, having gotten to know the cold blooded agent well enough to predict his every move. He didn't impress…

She shuffles her feet. "Fine. You want to hang here? I don't have to stay with you. Your target's not going anywhere anyway…!"

"No one's keeping you here, Shaw."

_Ha! Finally a response!_

"Maybe not. But you do something stupid and Samaritan finds you? Then you've put us all in jeopardy!"

No, Hersh, or any of the other operatives she'd worked with in the past never impressed her. John Reese however, is quite another matter. Over the past many months, before they'd had to go to ground, she'd taken the time to study him, analyze him, learn about his background, attempt to find out what made the man tick.

She'd examined him like a curator would a gallery portrait: hunting for flaws in every brush stroke. And she'd found plenty, as one would expect in any person with his kind of history. Like her kind of history…

But in the end she concluded she's got nothing to fear from the ex-agent, because while he has a skill set to match her own, she doubts he would ever do more than immobilize her if it came to an actual physical fight. The man was a wuss when it came to manhandling women!

"So are you coming or not?"

But he's also not someone she can boss around by sheer force of will. He will follow - but only by choice. And nothing short of a two-by-four over the head will change his course once he's made up his mind. Even Finch knows he'd hired a very dangerous and highly efficient individual, but one who would follow his own instincts about the validity of an assignment.

"And that's your phone ringing. Again!" she snipes.

Not a ringtone of course; that would be really cheesy, though in her more relaxed moments she's contemplated on what would fit the man. _Gangnam Style_ maybe…the music, not the lyrics.

But as it is, the ring is only a muted buzzing in his pocket.

He doesn't remove his eye from the Nikon. "I know who it is. Not important."

"Oh, so now you're omnipotent too? Must be nice."

That at least gets her a fleeting look, as he reaches into his leather jacket and pulls out the phone. Without so much a glance at the device he turns the screen toward her.

"Fusco."

And with that pronouncement he places the still buzzing phone on the stained bricks in front of him, and once more lines up the camera's telephoto lens with his subject, effectively signaling an end to their conversation.

Shaw tightens her lips on a sarcasm. Because of course he's right…it is Fusco. But considering that the two men now report to the same entity, it would be prudent of him to answer. It could be something important, something critical.

She grabs the phone off the wall before the last vibration stops.

"What is it Lionel?"

"_Shaw…?_

"Yeah."

"_Can I assume you're with Wonder Boy then?" _The detective's impatience is palpable, and before she can reply, _"Let me talk to him!"_

Shaw extends the phone to the silent man next to her, and in a saccharine tone accompanied with a patently false smile, "It's for you…."

But as before he ignores her, and after several seconds of holding out her hand, she pulls it back and returns the phone to her ear. "He's busy. Hasn't time to talk to you."

A snort pulsates over the air waves. _"Sure. He's busy. And let me guess…he's got his camera out again, right? The one with the telephoto lens."_

"Well, he's got someone under observation…"

And the detective scoffs again. _"What he's doing is not surveillance…and we both know it! It's stalking!"_

She recognizes with irritation that the portly detective has used the same label as did she not a few minutes before. Not even attempting to disguise her annoyance, her frustration with Reese spilling over into their conversation, she asks, "What do you want Fusco?"

"_Tell Mr. Sunshine there that my Boss is looking for him. And she's not a happy camper! He was supposed to be in the precinct this morning for a meeting and didn't show."_

"Why would he be expected to be...never mind. Don't care. I'll pass along the message, but like I said, he's busy…"

She can almost picture the chubby cop rolling his eyes. But the voice over the phone takes on a far more serious tone than before. _"Look, I can't keep covering for him. I don't know how he got that job or why, …unless it was just to annoy me! But he's going to get fired if he's not more careful!"_

"I understand, Lionel. Really I do…" She softens her voice slightly. "I'll try to get him to call you back asap." And she hangs up on the detective's 'Thanks'.

She lets the silence build several minutes until finally the ex-op lowers the Nikon and shifts around to face her.

"What did he want?"

"He's worried about you."

Reese's gaze is several shades of cynical. "I was listening to your end of that conversation…"

"And I was reading between the lines."

The ex-op stares at her a few seconds, then with a glacial expression, turns the camera back on his subject. Grinding her teeth Shaw places the phone back on the wall, jamming her hands into the pockets of her jacket, tasting frustration in their fruitless arguing.

"Seriously, Reese…you need to call him back. Fusco says his Captain's looking for you and she's evidently pissed you missed some kind of important meeting this morning concerning your last narcotics sting."

"Important? Another speech about the merit in interdepartmental cooperation and sharing reports? Yeah. Riveting." As he talks into the camera she hears a soft shutter click recording the image. "Fusco can give me the Cliff Notes when I get back…"

Shaw fumes, every instinct telling her to get out of sight, but reluctant to leave a team member behind. Some teachings just sink to the bone. Finally, just when she's convinced herself to exit the scene, he moves back from the grimy wall, manipulates the camera's mechanism to 'display' and for several seconds stares at the screen.

She holds out her hand. "May I…?"

Silently handing her the Nikon, Reese reaches for his phone once more. She hears him punch in a speed dial and as he moves several steps away from her, "Lionel. So what's the problem?"

But she doesn't follow the resulting conversation, concentrating instead on the camera's screen. No surprise there; she knew what she would find.

Bear looks good. Healthy. Well taken care of…and staring directly into the camera, as though aware of being an object of surveillance. And sitting in front of that chess board is Finch, looking every inch the professor he is.

She sighs, glancing at the ex-op still in conversation with Fusco. They were going to have find a way to drag Harold back into the fold - if not for the older man's sake, then for Reese.

Because at some point the ex-agent was going to do something stupid out of sheer frustration!


End file.
